


Two Miracles Short of Sainthood

by ShrodingersCat



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Addiction, Canon Typical Violence, Hostage Situations, JUST GUYS BEIN DUDES, Post Felina, Post Season 5, Post-Felina, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:58:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6391162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShrodingersCat/pseuds/ShrodingersCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse has escaped the group of Neo-Nazis, he's escaped Walter White. But now what? This fic follows Jesse on his [mis]adventures Post-Felina and wherever they may take him. Familiar faces resurface, and the road ahead is long and bumpy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Handsome Young Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer!!! This is only the beginning, starting right at the end of the series.

Hysterics were nothing new to Jesse Pinkman. But this, this wasn't exactly old news.

The gates came down like they barely ever existed. As fast as Todd's rickety old rust bucket of truck would take him, Jesse went. He could feel a heavy weight lift off his heart and in its place grew fluttering, a jittery combination of grief and relief. His pulse was wild, and if it had any kind of speedometer he was sure it would've read the same as the hastening pickup truck. He felt tears streak his cheeks, the first in months, and laughter bubble out of his body. All his emotions came flooding back at once, the ones he had shoved aside for so long now. It overlook him, his lungs heaving in but only exhaling minimally, shakily. He couldn't think of anything, just his foot pressing down harder and harder on the gas pedal. He didn't know _what_ to think, he hadn't had that freedom in- shit, like what, seven months? He was getting the fuck out of there if it was the last thing he did. Like _hell_ if he was dying in that dingy Nazi death camp.

However, one thought overtook his mind within not even a minute of racing down the dusty desert path. He skidded to a quick stop, slamming down on the breaks and sending the car sliding into the bramble at the side of the road. After a quick jolt from stopping short, he settled back into the uncomfortable, ancient leather of the driver’s seat and stared straight forward before breathlessly whispering, "Feds". His face twisted with exhaustion as he slammed his head down on the steering wheel. _Does it ever fucking end?_ He knew they'd be on their way any minute. Jesse threw the car in park and ripped the key out of the ignition. He fumbled with the door handle for a while, shaking hands and blurred vision making it difficult to grasp. Once he did he just ran, he ran with aching feet and ankles, the soreness from his old restraints lingering in the form of abrasions and the ghost weight still pressing down on him.

Jesse looked around desperately and anxiously, the nervous-relief of his pulse turning, thumping and fluctuating more than ever, racing into pure panic. The night had already blackened the sky and cast an eerie shadow over the desert. He scanned the horizon. This lead to the discovery of a dip in the earth in the distance, a perfect hiding spot. He sprinted over to it, lungs burning and legs threatening to give. He staggered into the ditch. His feet desperately attempted to gain traction on the steep, sandy slope. He allowed himself to fall after this. It was less of an intentional thing and more giving into exhaustion. But who the actual fuck cares? He was out of sight. The sand blew gently around him as he laid down, not minding the grittiness of the soil getting into his hair, it's not as if he could, like, get any filthier or anything. He was as crusty as they come, he had only seen himself in fleeting glimpses in the clubhouse’s bathroom mirror and from what he knew, he looked like some fucking hick. He preferred not to be reminded of his appearance, Saul's words of "You’re now officially the cute one of the group. Paul, meet Ringo. Ringo, meet Paul." to Mr. White echoing in his head after he was beaten to a meager junkie pulp by his asshole brother-in-law. Although, Heisenberg was no prize either in his current state. No one wins here.

The cool sand was comforting, it was almost equalizing Jesse's rising body temperature. Despite laying down and it being like, negative ass degrees in the desert, Jesse felt his blood boiling in him. His heart hadn't stopped beating at its breakneck pace and he was beginning to wonder if he should call a doctor or some shit. After laying in the dirt for a few moments, watching his rapid breath make his chest rise and fall, Jesse's previously empty mind began rattling around a lot of thoughts. The first was what the hell just happened? What was that thing Mr. White built? Why did he save him? And what about Mr. White? Was he dead? Even after everything _Walter fucking White_ did to him, a fleeting twinge of concern still graced his brain. It was second nature.

Jesse rolled over a bit. He propped himself up, slowly and carefully, to check for police. He cringed from the notable pain around his abdomen and back from where the chain had been. He knew it was rubbed raw but he had never cared enough to pay it any mind. But Jesus, did it hurt like a bitch now.

Jesse scanned the horizon once more, no Feds in sight. He heaved a sigh of relief, breath crystallizing in the nighttime desert air.  
The visual reminded him- damn he wanted a smoke. Withdrawal gripped tightly around his conscious not long after being taken captive, but it faded into a dull now-and-then urge eventually. However, the freedom was bringing it back.

As he laid back into the ground, a sudden sound sent him into a habitual tailspin: police sirens. They were distant, but growing closer by the moment. The police weren’t far and residents were even closer, they had to have heard the gunshots from Mr. White’s fucking James Bond death booby trap.

Panic shook him like a bone in its jaws, his whole body trembled and his mind spit out a thousand questions. He tried to answer them rationally, but each time anxiety took its hold.

_They can’t like, trace me to here, can they? I mean, the car’s far enough away and sand moves around in the wind, doesn’t it? My tracks will be covered. Mother Nature can do me a total favor here, right? And Mr. White, he’s done for isn’t he? Dude’s had to have met his end. He may have the luck of the goddamn Devil but no one lives through a bullet to the side. But- Oh God, what if he is alive, what if he goes to the Feds about all this, rat me out as revenge for gettin’ his ass shot. God, oh God, he can’t be alive. If he’s alive, I’ll just-_

Jesse stopped himself for a moment, he felt his heart drop like stone and cold panic rush over his body in waves.

_Idiot, you don’t have the balls._

Jesse threw his hands over his face, quietly murmuring in growing malaise. The sirens blared down the dirt path, dust rolling over the ditch and causing Jesse to yank the tattered, dingy collar of his sweater over his nose to avoid coughing. It smelled like complete shit, but, you know, whatever works. The quick whirring of all the cop cars made his whole body lock up. Christ, he was like a goddamn deer in the headlights. Fuck, breathing was _hard_. He was heaving in every gulp of air he could manage, but he still felt light-headed. The sirens were slightly more distant, he knew they had to be at the compound. He settled back into the dirt and just waited, crunching figurative numbers in his head about when it would be safe to get the hell out of there to distract himself. He estimated a few hours, with careful planning. Careful planning, what a laugh. Like that was something he ever did. But, miracles can happen. Usually not to Jesse Friday-the-Fucking-Thirteenth Pinkman but, whatever.

It had been quiet for a while, the desert reeling to its usual nighttime halt. A sudden yawn escaped Jesse mouth. He felt a crash, the anxiety of the past half hour and six months finally hitting a low. He was just exhausted if anything. He didn’t know how he hadn’t already checked out by now. Jesse made a move towards the nearest patch of grass. Loosely defined here in the desert of course, a patch of grass was more like a sprig of straw every now and then, but something was better than nothing. He army crawled over, elbows digging into the sand. Dust was kicking up into his nose, threatening to make him sneeze. In an effort to curb this, he lifted a quick hand up and pulled the sweater over his face again. This proved rather futile when more sand flew up, causing Jesse to fall pitifully flat on the ground. Great. Can he do anything right? Find out on the next episode of Jesse gets fucked. Again.

Jesse slid over into the brambles and laid down. He let exhaustion take over and allowed his eyes to flutter slowly shut. His heart rate had finally dulled down to about a drunken racehorse kinda rate. He didn’t feel quite safe but no other option seemed viable to kill time before taking off other than sleeping. Another few hours sitting alone with nothing to think about except like, everything that could ever possibly go wrong didn’t sound exactly delightful.

Soon enough, Jesse was fast asleep in the cradle of the desert brush. This, however, was of course short lived. Another vehicle rumbled down the road. The clamoring engine awoke Jesse with a start, sending him scrambling backwards. He then lifted himself slowly to a crouch, heart threatening to pop right out of his chest. He peered quickly over the ditch’s edge. A red block of color caught his eye, it ambling down the road as it came closer and closer to the compound. It was an ambulance.

_Shit, does that mean he's alive? He can't be, no, not with that wound. But- an ambulance- wait. It has no sirens. It has to be for..._

“Bodies.” Jesse whispered out loud, slowly. He plopped back down into the dirt, breathing a sigh of momentary relief. However, the thoughts started back up again.

_But fuck- what is he is alive? I mean, there haven't been cars so he couldn't have left. So, he's either dead or- what is he's just like, hiding or some shit? With all the crazy mission impossible stunts he pulled off I just- what if he's watching me right now, planning to kill me, revenge is kinda Heisenberg's thing isn't it? Fuck, no. He'd be dead already. Or- or I would've heard him. Nah, I mean I'd already be raspberry slushy in a barrel somewhere if that’s what he wanted. He had his chance while I was passed out. Fuck._

Jesse blinked slowly, laboriously. He licked his dry lips and felt his head grow increasingly heavy. Exhaustion and confusion always followed panic, always. He didn't _want_ to fall asleep, but the situation had presented itself and there was no real stopping it. The air was placid, the night was still black. It was cold, the chill permeating through the thin sweater Jesse wore. He learned to ignore the cold. The ambulance had already trudged its bulky body down the road and into the compound. There were no signs of any Feds going in or leaving, creating a kind of security for Jesse. He decided he would take it. With this, he slipped away quietly into sleep.

***

Jesse opened his eyes gradually, the browned sand blurring slowly to focus in the groggy cloud of his vision. He rubbed his eyes, blinking a few times, adjusting to the change in light. The sun was steadily rising, washing the desert in pale oranges and pinks.

Upon stirring, a familiar noise caught Jesse’s attention. Cars gently rolled by, tires barely moving fast enough to stir up dirt. The light crunching of the sand was only mildly alerting to Jesse. After having the shit kicked out of him often enough, pretty much any sound became jarring.

With the Feds having come and gone, Jesse sat and pondered his next move. Get like, the hell out of there or go grab some green? The latter seemed more pertinent considering he didn't have serious G’s anymore, God only knows where all his wound up. It's been so long. However, he knew if he wanted any chance at a decent life after he needed money. He needed to get away from this place, it was beginning to eat its way through him slowly and insidiously. The sight of red sand and the feeling of arid desert air hitting his lungs made him nauseous.

Jesse stood up, stretching. He felt his bones shift and pop. He sighed and looked around, the sky clearing to a new baby blue. The sunrise moved quickly on. Jesse scanned the rocks and jagged mountains, there were no other living creatures in sight, not even a raven or a buzzard. Jesse decided that this was the time to make a mad dash towards the compound to retrieve some cash. He ran towards the edge of the ditch, scrambling up and laying his hands flat to pull up for traction. He quickly moved towards the compound.

When he got to the gates it felt like sacrilege. His mind flashed with terror upon looking at the chain link fence lying pathetically across the ground. He didn't know if he had the guts to step back into the compound. He felt like he was willingly walking back into the seven months of torture he endured. He was suddenly hit with a flashback, the memory slamming it's way to the front of his brain like a runaway train.

He sat in the back of Jack's truck, eyes glazed over and tears streaming down his cheeks, catching in his beard. He stared out the window, not lost in thought, just lost.

_I watched Jane die._

He let his head fall against the window. The glass was smooth and cool, in stark contrast with his forehead. Every muscle in his body felt languid, he had surrendered all strength.

_I was there._

He watched the desert pass him by, the coordinates +34° 59′ 20.00″, -106° 36′ 52” getting further and further away. The desert sighed it's soft, cool wind into the window cracked open in the front.

_And I watched her die._

He didn't speak, he didn't move. He just sat and breathed, slowly and rhythmically. Rocks kicked up under the truck, providing an ambient sound to the otherwise silent ride. Jack sat up front, wordless, hand hanging out the window as he drove. A man accompanied him in the passenger seat.

_I watched her overdose and choke to death._

Jesse felt himself crying, but without emotion. He was just empty. He felt like a gutted animal, innards consumed by vultures with its leg in a trap.

_I could have saved her, but I didn't._

He started to cry harder, his chest heaving back and forth sporadically, sobs wracking his thin frame. He felt his eyes screw shut, a deluge of tears inundating his cheeks. He folded into himself, head falling into his hands. A voice suddenly roared from the front.

"Shut up!" Jack snapped, violently banging his hands against the steering wheel. "Sit quiet or else I'll whack you upside the head so hard you'll be seeing stars for a week."

Jesse shrunk into the seat more, the yelling catching him off guard while lost in his miserable reverie. He stifled the tears back and held his breath to avoid sobbing. He began to shake. His limbs trembled and it felt as if his heart was being thrown against the walls of his chest. He grew increasingly nauseous. Sweat began to prickle at his forehead. Fuck, this was it.

Jesse snapped back to reality. He looked at the gates again, still sprawled across the ground in front of him. His feet felt heavy, like they were made of stone. He tried to move but the effort was useless, he was still stuck. He closed his eyes once more, taking a deep breath in and sputtering it out. He opened his eyes and moved one foot in front of the next, walking slowly towards the clubhouse. He just kept thinking of the money, an action that made him feel eerily like an old partner. But this was for different reasons, no, this was for him having an actual chance for once. Jesse kept walking, steering himself forwards with all his might.

He got to the clubhouse door and stopped. It felt wrong. He was never allowed in the clubhouse. He was only dragged in once every few weeks to shower by Todd, his smell offending whichever sorry bastard had to give him food, or to be yelled at by Jack for whatever reason he saw fit. The beatings occurred outside, the greedy fuckers didn't want to risk getting blood on their floor.

Jesse gripped his sweater sleeve with his fingers, dragging it up his palm in order to avoid prints. He turned the knob slowly, the door creaking open. He lumbered in, dragging all that was left of his weight into the room. The bodies were gone, the room was cleaner, emptier, some furniture and a gang of scumbags curled around a T.V missing. He ambled towards the closet at the back, heart beginning to race. He opened the door and peered inside. A backpack lay on the floor. Jesse clenched his teeth together in anticipation. He picked up the backpack and yup- jackpot- it was heavy. Inside was one million dollars in cash. He knew this was enough to last him a lifetime and then some.

He slung the backpack over one shoulder and began his slow trip out. His feet labored, one in front of the other. He felt his heart begin to thud a little more tenderly. Jesse walked out the door and didn't look back. He trudged along, switching the heavy sack of money from shoulder to shoulder, until he reached Todd's truck. He hopped in the front seat and threw the bag to the passenger seat. He started up the truck again and drove off. He drove down the meandering dirt paths and scantily paved roads until he reached the lights of Albuquerque, the city a haven he nearly forgot he called home. He passed familiar streets and buildings, old hangout spots and stores he recognized. Nothing had changed in seven months.

Jesse drove until he reached one particular address: 9809 Margo Street.

He parked the truck by the curb. He got out and stood there, staring. The house looked almost the same, except for a red paper on the front door reading "Condemned".

Jesse felt a pit in his stomach. The once alive property, bustling with party goers or Brock playing catch with Jesse in the yard, Walt storming in and out, or Jesse slinking around inside, was dead. It lacked any life, it felt flat. Jesse looked upon it with a wistful sorrow for a few moments before turning back around and climbing into Todd's pickup truck. It was time to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we'll get a glimpse at some old friends C;


	2. Missing the Vein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse heads out in search of a temporary place to stay and finds himself in a situation he is all too familiar with. And, an old friend resurfaces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Jesse's very sarcastic and humorous inner-voice will ebb and flow with his mental state!!! Thanks for reading- I'm only just getting started B)

Jesse looked around the familiar room, soaking in its atmosphere. It smelled like piss, stale beer, decomposition, and unkempt hair. Knots of filthy people laid sprawled across a feculent floor covered in sleeping bags, comforters, rotting food, condoms, needles, and other trash. Newspapers laid strewn about. Broken glass dappled the floorboards. Some of the people tore at their skin; they scratched with broken, dirt encrusted nails. Some slept, shot up, or stared at the ceiling, sunken eyes rolling back, nearly registering death. Many twitched and shivered, many sat propped against the wall, backs arched forward and eyes drooped half shut in a drug induced daze. They all looked like zombies, zombies with tattered clothes, track marks, and unwashed bodies. The crack house was unfortunately an experience Jesse already had under his belt, like, majorly.

He walked to the back, searching for any empty spot in the room. He tried his best to look strung out, ambling in and closing his eyes listlessly every few seconds. He didn't have to try too hard, however, his current condition being more than convincing. He couldn't even remember the last time he showered, he was sure he smelled like absolute shit. His hair was so long and so greasy, stringy and coarse, no longer all soft and flyaway. He was fucking beat, disheveled as all hell. Thank god crack houses didn't have mirrors, or any reflective surfaces for that matter. Everything was dull and smirched by endless puffs of smoke and other filth. The windows were even boarded off.

Jesse roamed the cramped room until found a clear spot next to a lady with hollow cheeks and no bra that was passed out, legs strewn over a man perpendicular to her who must've been relying on the mercy of his last four teeth. Jesse sat down, warily allowing himself to lay across the comforter that was spread on the floor. He felt his skin crawl, surprisingly not used to the grime. If he could give the concrete dungeon he was kept in credit for one thing, it was that it wasn't horrible filthy, only to some limited degree.

No one here had any possessions, not even Jesse. He left the money in the backpack, tucked under a seat in Todd's truck. (His truck? The truck? It felt too weird to disassociate it from Todd.) He laid in uncomfortable silence compared to the moaning, babbling, or snoring bodies near him. Shifting in unease, Jesse began the slow descent into thought again. It was that same burning question over and over again, what next?

_I have nothing. Andrea’s dead, Brock’s gone, my parents want me dead, Mr. White’s- no. Don’t even go there, that bastard he- he never- fuck._

Jesse felt his fists clench and teeth grit in conflicted rage as he contemplated his feelings towards his old partner. It was difficult to find them weighing in any particular direction for too long.

_What can I do? Think Jesse, think… Saul? Is Saul around?_

Jesse pondered the thought for a minute. He figured it was worth a shot, Saul always knowing a guy that knows a guy. Jesse propped himself up slowly, and damn- yeah, there it is- still feeling the ache where the shackles were. He was beginning to wonder if that pain was all in his head. It was so distinct, sharp even, but were the abrasions and bruises really that bad? He had been fucked up _way_ further before and he didn’t feel anything like this. He pushed the thought aside and walked towards the door, stepping around slumped over junkies and moldy three week old gas station hot dogs. He wandered around the empty street corner that the building was situated on until he found a pay phone, stuck to a brick wall across the street. He pocketed some change he had found along the way and on the floor of the crack house, sliding them into the coin slots. He dialed Goodman’s number like second nature, allowing the phone to ring.

“The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer-”

Jesse slammed the pay phone back into its place. He smashed his hands against the metal box and swore through clenched jaws, kicking the wall that the phone was supported by.

_Mr. White! This had to have been that asshole’s fault too. Did he kill Saul? Nah, why would he? You never know with that psycho, though. Doesn’t even need a reason!_

Jesse stomped back into the crack house, fuming, fists jammed into the pockets of his well worn cargo pants. People turned and stared as he walked by, moving back a little or eyes just floating up in their sockets lazily, depending on the state of their sobriety.

He laid back down into his spot, cringing slightly less at the mess this time. Jesse couldn’t get it out of his head, Heisenberg ruined every chance he had, dead or alive. He closed his eyes and tried to will himself into sleep, but nothing came to him but more festering hatred for Mr. White.

_That crazy old asshole couldn’t control himself for one minute to not screw Saul over? He waved me off to a bunch of Nazis, telling me he killed my girlfriend to boot- who the hell was this dick? What did he even want? Money? Power? A hobby? Why couldn’t he have played bingo like all the other old guys. He’s the reason I’m stuck lookin’ like my face got put through a blender and sleeping on some shit covered floor filled with reanimated corpses!_

“Fuck!”

Jesse’s voice seemed to ring throughout, bouncing off the walls and the ears of the people around him. All the sentient heads in the room turned to him, eyeballing him curiously. Some seemed to ponder the context, the others the disruption in their daze.

He found himself lying curled up, knees to his chest and hands over his ears, blocking out the scene around him. People began to return to their heroin induced stupors and settled down; all except one pair.

The braless woman to his right was at the throat of Four-Tooth. They looked at each other, steaming.

“You stole my dope.” She croaked slowly, face wrinkling up in disgust.

“Did not.” He answered, lips curling, trembling. His gaunt face heaved every loose bit of skin back in an attempt to make the expression.

“Did too. It’s right there, by your hand.” She cast a glance downwards, looking at the man’s bruised, veiny hands propping him up on the floor. By one hand laid a needle.

“Nope, I-”

Before he could even finish the sentence, the woman smacked the dude right across the face, threatening to pop loose the last of his teeth. _Holy shit._ He rubbed the cheek she connected with sorely before launching himself at her, screaming. They rolled next to Jesse, him curling more protectively into himself. He felt his body begin to quiver, every limb shaking. His heart rate immediately soared, a crushing weight settling onto his chest. Breathing became a chore. His lungs squeezed tightly. He felt like his whole body was shutting down. A memory bombarded its way forward.

Jack stood over Jesse, breathing heavily with a lit cigarette in one hand. Jesse had already received a punch to the face, knocking him to the ground of the garage where he was _supposed_ to cook. He didn’t remember much of what happened in the last few seconds, just him barely opening his mouth in an act of defiance and then a swastika flying by, knuckles smashing into his teeth. He groaned in pain, holding his throbbing cheek, the cold concrete perforating his threadbare sweater. He looked up. Jack’s brow was knitted together, casting a grave shadow unto his eyes. His lips turned at the corners, rage etched into his expression.

“Now, rat, you gonna shut your trap and start cookin’ for me?”

Jesse began to speak, wincing in pain. “For you?” He gave a slight mocking laugh, “I’ll cook for you if you can bring my girlfriend back from the goddamn d-”

A boot came down straight into Jesse’s stomach. He lurched forward with a grunt. A pain shot all across his abdomen, the combination of the force of Jack’s kick with the deep ache and abrasions from his restraints made Jesse nauseous. He looked up timidly at Jack. His eyes burned with disgust.

He bent down to Jesse’s level, Jesse still observing the polished black leather that had jammed its way into his gut. Jack breathed into Jesse’s face, singeing, hot cigarette breath hitting him all at once. The pungent smell added to his nausea. Jesse choked down vomit. Jack sneered, exposing his rotting, yellowed teeth.

“The cunt’s dead, no changing that. Now get to work.” Jack growled. His face grew more slack, seemingly satisfied with the damage he caused.

Jesse thought for a moment, stewing on the word “cunt”, and then he spit in Jack’s eyes.

A moment had barely passed before a vein popped to the surface of Jack’s neck, his jaw tightening. His nostrils flared and his forehead creased. Rage flew into his hard narrow eyes. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, swastika flashing once more. Jesse stared, gritting his teeth as Jack stood up, slowly, ancient joints popping.

It was only a split second before a flurry of blows rained down upon Jesse, kick after kick, it seemed endless, time dragged by. The Aryan’s boots continually connected with every area of his body, especially his stomach and face. Jack carried out the beating silently. The only noises that echoed in the garage was Jesse crying out, yelping like a puppy, and the soft thudding of foot to flesh. He writhed about after each hit, groaning. His face began to swell where the bones were closest to the surface, the skin bursting into bruises of rose and lemon. Jack ceased the beating just long enough to crouch down again, face to face with Jesse once more. Jesse winced, curling into himself a bit. This sent pain tearing through his whole body, eliciting a loud gasp from the boy. Jack grinned sadistically, exposing his heinous set of teeth once more. He then shot a hand out towards Jesse’s face. He stopped just before he hit him, dropping his fist down to Jesse’s sweater, causing him to flinch. Jack knotted his hand in the fabric and yanked Jesse to his feet, pulling his entire, now much more meager, weight up.

Closing in on Jesse’s face he snarled, “Next time don’t talk back, you little shit.” He jostled Jesse once, still limp in his grip, causing him to gasp yet again. “Still wanna spit in my face,” another jolt- another gasp, “huh?”

Jesse shook his head slowly.

“Good.” Jack dropped him unceremoniously to the floor. When he hit the ground, Jesse wretched, throwing up the minimal contents of his stomach. Jack glowered down upon Jesse and scoffed. “Now clean up.”

Jesse snapped back to reality, shaking violently. He found that his knees were still curled to his chest and hands clasped over his ears, but he was now sitting up. He looked around and everyone stared, silently, eyes half closed and languorous. He didn’t even notice he was babbling in a terrified stream of consciousness until one guy slowly articulated for all the others watching, “The fuck’s he sayin’?”

Jesse rubbed his neck and face, looking around at everyone. Great, it's not as if he could get like, any more of a freak or anything, huh? He shot a glance to everyone telling them to look away, move on, show's over. They took the hint and their eyes slowly shifted back to the ceiling, ground, or into their skulls.

Jesse got up, steadily gaining strength back in his trembling legs. He hobbled out of the room slowly but surely, making his way outside and back to the pay phone. The day had already turned to twilight, the sun making its slow descent down. The colors of sunset had already washed over New Mexico and the sky had been casted into shade. Faint beams of the moon’s light began to shine down onto the vastly empty street corner. Damn, he was out for a while. Stupid fuckin' flashbacks.

Jesse fingered some change from his pockets, inserting the last of what he had gathered into the phone. He dialed a different number this time and much to his luck, someone picked up.

"Badger, it's me." Jesse began, steeling his nerves just long enough to keep his voice from wavering.

"Hey man, who the hell is this?" Badger answered, voice sounding groggy. He was probably high, per usual.

"Badger, it's Jesse. I'm-"

"Whoa! Dude!" Badger exclaimed, voice blaring through the speaker. Jesse winced, removing the phone from his ear an inch or two. _Well, hello to you too._ "I thought you were in Alaska! Or- or some place far out! What the hell are you doin' man?" He enthused, giggling in excitement towards the end.

He almost questioned Badger’s lack of concern, almost. He didn’t know why he expected any kind of hint that someone cared, he had been out of the picture for so long, not that he had given anyone any reason before. He pushed the thought away and passed it off as Badger’s brutal unintelligence and excitable nature, for his own sake. Jesse wrapped his hand tightly around the phone, knuckles beginning to turn white. Contact with familiar people made him anxious. He knew he wasn't the same person he left as. "I've been uh, around, okay?" He finally replied.

"Okay, okay." Badger said, speeding through each word as fast as his lumbering junkie lips and brain could move, If you won’t spill the beans, fine. But dude, Skinny would be so amped to know your back oh man, oh man, I gotta tell him Jesse-”

“Alright, let’s slow down there Usain Bolt, can’t I tell ya’ the deal before we bring anyone else into this?” Jesse insisted, characteristic annoyance bleeding into his voice. He dragged a hand down his face, Badger’s tinny voice ringing in his ears. Hearing Badger was surreal, but it also gave him an appearance to uphold.

“Right, right. The deal-” Badger stretched out the word comically, humor still intact after many months. “What exactly is the deal?”

“We need to meet up, like, as soon as possible.” Jesse said.

“Sounds good to me dude, is tomorrow okay, my place?” Badger replied, very willing.

“Perfect. Gotta go.” Jesse affirmed quickly. Before Badger could finish gushing a goodbye, Jesse hooked the phone back in place and sighed, dipping his head down low. It was almost exhausting, maintaining composure. Ah, who was he kidding it _was_ exhausting. As soon as he hung up he felt his breath begin to ebb and flow nervously.

However, he found a sense of reassurance in hearing Badger’s voice despite himself. He sounded just like he used to, before everything. It was nice to know that something’s never change. Jesse took that small comfort and clung to it, gripping the chest of his sweater and looking up at the sky, feeling the fabric bunched in his palms and something that felt close to safe, close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next upd8 to come in a few days~ I'll keep up with this as much as possible, I promise. Thanks to the 50 odd ppl that have read and the few that left kudos, it means a lot for my first ever posted work!!! Next time, see where Jesse's friendship with Badger left off, who knows how they'll get along C;


	3. Caged Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse finds himself more absorbed in his past than ever, and he knows he needs to escape. But how?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank u soooo much for 100+ views!!! It means the world!!! More to come soon C:

Sleeplessness captured Jesse in its grip again. After calling Badger, he returned to the crack house and attempted to settle down in his spot. The effort was in vain. The scene became one reminiscent of his early days in the Nazi compound. He rolled around for an hour or so, mind juggling thoughts and worries, eyes growing increasingly heavy. No matter how much he wanted to, Jesse couldn’t sleep. There was no escape from the waking world. In fact, it was a  _ miracle _ that the adrenaline crash after escaping the compound allowed him to rest. But, yet again, he found himself awake and miserable. The sounds and smells of the room nauseated him. It was even worse at night. The outside world was silent and the scratching, gurgling, moaning, whispering, kicking, and sometimes even screaming of junkies was amplified. All he could think of was the lady next to him on the left, mumbling loudly and picking her nail against the edge of where a floorboard diverged to meet another, eliciting a small popping sound every second like clockwork. That, and the smell of piss strongly emanating from his right. Sure is great being lowlife junkie scum. 

Jesse had had enough. He shot up off the comforter he laid on in frustration and marched outside, finding Todd’s truck parked out on the curb where he left it. Ripping the door open, he hopped in the front seat and stuck the key in the ignition. He reached under the seat and - oh thank God, it’s still there. The backpack of money laid where he left it last. Jesse threw the car in drive and took off. 

He didn’t know quite where he was going, but he did know he had nothing. He ran to the nearest Walmart (It was easier to blend in, always crowded in that joint.) and bought two small plastic bags full of items, avoiding the gaze of the clerk as he paid. He was damn sure that he wasn’t getting caught like that, not after everything he had been through and  _ especially _ not at a fucking Walmart. 

Next on the agenda was a place to stay. Jesse only knew of one place for people like him.

Checking into the nearest shitty motel was another fear inducing endeavor. The corpulent woman at the front leaned over the counter she was situated on, opening her mouth slathered in red lipstick to expose gapped front teeth and a wad of faded chewing gum. She spoke in a disinterested tone, asked him how many nights. Jesse told her one. She spun around slowly and snapped her gum, grabbing the room key. She handed it to him, her cheap perfume nearly choking Jesse on a scent that could only be described as upchucked cherry cough medicine. He thanked her hesitantly and made his way to his room where he found himself now, attempting to remove his shirt in the tiny yellow tiled bathroom.

The bruises swaddling his ribs made any upward movement of his arms excruciating. The adrenaline had fully worn off and all the pain was back, both physically and mentally. It also didn’t help that a mirror was directly next to him. Once he wiggled his way slowly and agonizingly out of his dirtied sweater, he caught a quick glimpse of himself, now half naked. Around his midsection, the skin was torn away to reveal raw red strips of flesh. Dirt and loose, cheap fabric from his clothes were rubbed into these areas, much to Jesse’s disgust. All around his hips and ribs were deep purple bruises, blotting out areas in a sickening plum color.  Lacerations still marked the skin of his entire torso. On top of this, he was now disgustingly thin, his ribs nearly poking through his pallid skin. Jesse felt sick, his stomach turned upon looking at himself. He hadn’t really seen his body in months. Seeing his face was inevitable but he made a special effort to avoid scrutinizing himself. He never looked for long, if he did at all. He felt himself grow dizzy, his lungs constricting. He quickly moved to the shower and shook several bottles of shampoo from the plastic Walmart bag he placed next to it. 

Once he got fully undressed, he turned on the shower and waited a minute for the water to warm up, holding his hand under it. Getting in, he felt the hot water hit him and the sensation filled him with a sense of comfort immediately. It was the first shower that was above approximately freezing fucking cold he had had since God only knows when. He watched the dirt run off of him, his skin switching shades. He almost could ignore the stinging of his wounds, the water rubbing them abrasively. He grabbed shampoo and poured it on his head, so happy he could cry. He dropped bottle after bottle of soap, giggling like a kid in a candy store. He felt like a total dumbass, but who cared? 

When he got out and dried off, he picked up the first set of new clothes he had bought. When he was at the store, shopping for clothes was a separate nightmare from being out in public. He looked for anything with solid, dim colors and that was baggy enough to hide his body. He wanted nothing to do with being looked at, especially regarding his current weight. He bought several loose sweaters, jeans, sweatshirts, and sweatpants.

He decided to first wear simple gray sweatpants and a black sweater, something comfortable. Jesse threw those on, feeling as if he was in high school again, like, so not put together. He then began the next uphill climb of the evening. He reached into the second plastic bag and pulled out a new electric hair trimmer, a razor, and shaving cream. He ripped open the plastic after an embarrassingly long struggle and placed the razors and shaving cream on the sink. Preparing himself mentally for one hell of a mood drop, Jesse looked into the mirror. Yeah, there it is, the burning self hatred right on cue. Of fucking course. 

Despite the urge to look away, Jesse first picked up the electric razor, clipping on the setting it had for 2 inches. He began to run it over his head, feeling the hair shed off and fall to the floor. He tried to avoid staring at himself, instead focusing on the methodical front to back slide of the razor. After a few minutes, his hair was trimmed and he combed through it, allowing the excess trimmings to come cleanly away and leave him with a cut oddly like his old hair. He hoped not shaving his head would hide some of the bountiful scars on his face and simultaneously help him regain his previously more youthful look. He ran his hands through the front of his new haircut and sighed, feeling some sense of relief about not being greasy as shit anymore. Jesse took a deep breath and prepared himself for the next step: shaving. Having to stare at himself for longer than 10 seconds wasn’t exactly a stroll in the park. 

He filled the sink with water, slathered his face in shaving cream, and picked up the razor. He stared down at the sink, the hand holding the razor shaking with white knuckles. He wasn’t prepared to scrutinize his appearance again, the images of his body in the mirror flashing before him. He summoned his strength and fixed his gaze upward. He began to drag the razor across his face, slowly, averting his own eyes. He’d tap the razor in the water occasionally, taking the opportunity to look away. It was painstaking, slow and torturous. He just wanted to feel  _ clean  _ again. He didn’t sign up for all this emotional breakdown shit. 

When he finished shaving, Jesse finally met his own eyes. He stared, hard. His face had returned to the state it was in before everything happened. Before the Nazis, before Brock being poisoned, before Gale, before Gus, before anything. However, his face was craggy, lined, and deeply tired. He looked like the hardened criminal he acted to be a few years ago. He hated it.

“Careful what you wish for.” He scoffed aloud. Jesse continued to study himself. 

The scars, fuck, _ the scars _ . The worst were definitely from his first beating, a memory he tried his best to push far back into his mind, holding it down like vomit. He observed the deep lines across his nose, running down from his right eye, slashed across his cheek right below that one. There were smaller, more scattered ones across his forehead and down by his eyebrows. The line where his beard used to be was riddled with them. One even split down his lip, a fresh laceration adjacent to it. This time, Jesse couldn’t escape the flashback that climbed its way to the forefront of his mind. 

Jesse was tied to a chair, ropes burning around his hands and feet, anger still festering out of him. He thrashed about, screaming any horrible thing he could think of at those Nazi bastards. When he wasn’t yelling, he looked around the garage he was being held in. There was a meth lab in front of him, not quite as big as the set-up Gus had him at, but still bigger than him and Mr. Whi-  _ Walt’s _ \- last lab. It had all the fixings, it was ready to be cooked in, but no batch was being made. Were they gonna make him cook and then kill him? No, hell no. 

Jack came back after a few moments, his gang following closely behind him, five men total. He walked towards Jesse slowly, each step echoing importantly. He kept his shoulders back, his spine straight, and his head high. His expression was stone cold, unmovable. His whole gang also kept the same eerie posture and attitude. Todd was in the back, smirking. 

When he reached Jesse, Jack motioned for the rest of the crew to stop, throwing one hand up in the air. Jesse could feel sweat run down his forehead, his teeth grinding together.

“Todd, get up here.” Jack yelled, still facing Jesse. “I want you to see this.” 

Todd walked up and stood next to Jack. Jack leaned into Jesse’s face, looking at him closely. He repeated one of Jesse’s earlier lines, mocking him in a high pitched, nasally voice. “You won’t get away with this, you senile Nazi bastards.” Jack began to snigger. He took a step back and laughed more, which grew louder and more maniacal as it progressed. His wiry body shook as he howled. This pissed Jesse off more, who the hell was this douche? Who did he think he is? What did he even fucking want? What was he  _ doing _ ? 

“Kid,” Jack began, sneering, “You’re gonna learn real fast that spewing all that dumb shit at me will be useless, just like you unless you listen up. And you know what we do with useless pieces of shit around here?” 

Jesse stared. 

“Shoot ‘em.” 

All of the gang looked to each other and just laughed, some exchanging friendly shoulder punches and more jokes. 

Jesse eyed Jack coldly, filled with white hot rage. He clenched his jaw hard. He curled up his lips and growled, “Fuck you.”

Jack’s eyes lit up with amusement, one side of his thin, cracked lips twisting up. “Oh-ho ho boys, looks like we got ourselves a real rebel here!” He chuckled, the rest of the gang joined in, giving haughty laughs. This disgusted Jesse further.

“Stop laughing!” He cried out, face flushing red hot, “Shut up!” He strained against the rope, lurching forward and wobbling the chair a bit. This only made the gang laugh harder. 

Jack wiped his eyes, smiling broadly with his wicked teeth. He leaned in and grinned before spitting right onto Jesse’s face. Jesse let out a scream and launched himself at Jack, causing the chair to fall forward and pitifully onto the ground without loosening the restraints. Jesse cringed as his head hit the concrete floor with a loud thump. A sharp pain radiated across his temples and his vision blurred in and out for a quick second. He looked up and the Aryans were in hysterics.  _ Those bastards.  _

“Fuck you all! You won’t be getting anything from me! Nothing, you hear me! Nothing! No information, no cooks, nothing!” Jesse snapped loudly, cheek still stuck to concrete, finding that his dignity had left him and been replaced with blind fury. 

Jack looked down, the rest of the men silencing themselves and exchanging amused and shocked looks simultaneously. Jack too held this expression, grinning as broadly as ever. He then crouched down, ignoring his old joints pleas against the motion and focusing instead on Jesse’s face. Spit that flew from his mouth when he screamed had covered his beard, his brow was deeply furrowed, and his eyes held open wide in rage. However, they still threatened tears. This entertained Jack. 

“Is that so?” Jack mused sarcastically. He then snapped his fingers, “Boys.” The whole gang nodded and smiled. 

They all crowded around Jesse and it was only a few seconds of staring before one gave a hoot and they began to kick him, one boot after the next crashing into different parts of Jesse’s body, particularly his face and ribs. He felt nauseated, pain ripping through him. His vision faded in and out again, his brain feeling like it was frying inside his head. The wind was knocked straight out of him and his bones felt a heavy pain. He feared for his life, 4 guys hitting him at once; everyone wailing on him except Todd. 

“Tell me when you’re ready to talk!” Jack shouted over the ruckus of laughing men, swinging boots, toe to flesh, excited screams, and Jesse’s pained ones. 

“Okay, okay!” Jesse yelled almost immediately. Jack lifted him and the chair up by his shirt collar and looked at him, Jack’s eyes gleaming with satisfaction. 

“Oh, looks like the rat wants to sing, what a sight!” Jack cackled. “Tell me, what do they know?” 

“Alright, look, they don’t know anything.” Jesse pleaded, grimacing from the searing pain throughout his body. He felt something hot running from his nose and all over his face. It leaked into his mouth. He leaned off to the side to sputter- blood. It was blood. Fuck. The metallic aftertaste didn’t leave him. 

“Nothing?” Jack leaned in closer, “Nothing?” He backed up and raised a fist, Jesse leaning back before it connected with his nose, causing him to cry out. “Tell me the truth! Tell me the fucking truth or I won’t be calling them,” he throws a thumb behind him, “off!” 

Jesse felt tears run down his cheeks now, mixing with blood and dirt. He gritted his teeth hard, feeling them strain under the pressure before he snapped. “This is all that asshole Mr. White’s fault! I never wanted this! I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t ask for  _ him _ ! He killed my girlfriend, he killed so many people,” He breathed out, exasperated and heaving for air, “took away everything I had, and now  _ this _ ! Now he hands me over to be tortured and murdered by a bunch of Nazi pricks!” He let out a painful sob, “Do what you want! I’m not giving him anything anymore! Nothing!” 

Jack still had a menacing smile plastered onto his face. He turned to his men and snickered, “This guy, what a fuckin’ pussy am I right?” The gang laughed. Jack turned his attention back to Jesse. “Yer gonna act like a pussy? Yer gonna take it like a pussy. I ain’t seen no kid cry this much since Todd shit himself at age 3.” Todd flushed embarrassed but joined in on the rest of the crew’s chuckling. “All you are is a rat, a dirty rat, and that’s what yer gonna be treated as, got it?”

Jesse fumed, he felt his jaw tighten and the blood rush to his head. “Fuck. You.”

Jack didn’t give it a thought, Jesse couldn’t even  _ read his expression _ before he received a hard punch to the head, sending his mind reeling. His vision turned black and faded in slowly again. He became conscious of a horrible, piercing pain in his skull. He bolted forward and vomited the meager contents of his stomach, barely missing Jack’s shoes. He began to concentrate on stifling the tears flowing from his eyes.

“Fine! Fine,”Jesse breathed out, in pain and exasperated, “There’s a confession tape, somewhere. I don’t know where- Hank had it! He was the only one that knew, Hank and his partner- and they’re dead- and his wife! His wife knew, but she- she doesn’t want me- she wants Mr. White dead or in jail or whatever. That’s why they had me, they wanted to catch him. Not you! Not you either- just Mr. White.” Jesse frantically spat out everything he could. His eyes glistened. 

Jack cocked an eyebrow. “So the rest of the DEA doesn’t know?”

Jesse shook his head,  _ moving was a bad idea, shit, bad idea _ , becoming very dizzy very fast. “No, they did it as some private off the grid sorta thing, he didn’t get to tell the rest.” Jesse breathed in, hard, still feeling tears collect behind his eyes. 

Jack stared daggers at Jesse. He narrowed his eyes and twisted his mouth into a frown. He didn’t say anything, just stared. This was more than perturbing to Jesse. He felt the tears begin to spill, the anxiety of waiting to be hit overcoming him. He attempted to screw his eyes shut. Fuck, Jack was right, he  _ was _ the biggest fucking pussy. He  _ was _ taking it like a bitch. He couldn’t even help it but God, did he want to. 

Jack gave a brief chuckle, “Damn, look at this bitch cry. What doesn’t get ya’ all worked up? You always kickin’ and screamin’ like a goddamn infant? Pathetic.“ Jack then shifted his gaze, staring Jesse straight in the eyes. “So that’s it, that’s the truth, and the whole truth? Is that right, rat?”

Jesse nodded, biting his lip to avoid spilling more tears, hoping to appease Jack. He was still bracing himself for another punch to the head. 

Jack looked at him and smirked, “Well, let’s make sure of that.” Jack snapped his fingers. 

Suddenly, all of the men but Jack and Todd rushed at Jesse. He felt his eyes go wide and then, in between blinks, he found himself on the floor being kicked to shit, face in a puddle of his own tepid vomit. He no longer felt each blow individually, just bundles of heavy, piercing pain across his abdomen, back, and face. He felt winded, nauseous, and drained. He could feel his face being wet with either blood or tears mixed with the puke. For a brief second, he looked up, catching a glimpse of Todd. The tow-headed psychopath was staring right at him with a vague smile creeping across his lips. In this moment, Jesse felt lower than a dog. 

Jesse could make out Todd’s voice among the commotion.  “Hey, guys, can you stop for a second?” The men stopped and look at Todd. “Hey, Jesse, be ready to cook tomorrow.”

Jesse’s eyes went wild with horror. _ Cook? _ This asshole, acting all polite and shit, but cook?  _ Cook?  _

“You work for us now.” Todd explained, collected and smiling still. 

All Jesse could do was stare. He didn’t even know if he was still crying. He barely felt the vomit. He felt the pain, but shock dulled it.  _ Cook?  _

He was then nudged in the side, hard, causing him to flinch and let out a small yelp. It was Jack. He looked up and met his cold eyes. But, he was holding something- it was- shit. No. No. No. 

Jack waved the green CD case containing Jesse’s confession tape. His face twisted in ill delight. “Savin’ this for a rainy day.” 

Jesse was in awe, from the pain, from the situation, the fear, everything. He felt tears consistently slip from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks in streams. _ I have to cook? _ The last thing he remembered was Todd hoisting him up slightly by the arm by order of Jack, dragging him across cold concrete and then, gravel, and an excruciating pain beating its way across his ribs. 

_ Cook?  _

Jesse shook his way out of the memory. He found himself sprawled across the cold yellow tile of the motel floor. It smelled like bleach and its antithesis, mold. He, however, ignored this and instead concentrated on the crushing weight atop his chest, the ache in his ribs, and the burning in his lungs. He coughed hard a few times and rolled over onto his other side, easing the strain on his rib cage. Sobs wracked his body and he curled into himself. Fuck, not again goddammit. He used to be spacey back at the compound, but not like this. He’d just find himself feeling like an observer to his own body, you know, like, out of it. This fucked him up enough, but the flashbacks weren’t as prevalent. Those are recent and holy shit, were they terrifying. He didn’t even know how much time had passed. Thirty seconds? A minute? Ten? An hour? All he did know was that he needed to get out of this place,  _ fast. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise next chapter gets a liiiittle more interesting C;


	4. The Great and Powerful Oz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse finally meets up with Badger and Skinny Pete, a gathering that gets real awkward, real fast.

Jesse soon found the strength to move from the bathroom floor and out into the main part of the motel room, a small space consisting of a double bed with kitschy floral pattern sheets, a nightstand, a small round wooden table with two chairs to match, and an old T.V propped up on a dresser. He dragged himself over to the dresser, ripping a beer out of the six pack atop it that he had purchased earlier. He then limped over to the bed and plopped down, exhausted and defeated. The nightstand next to the bed had a lamp accompanied by an ancient digital clock blinking 11:34 pm. Jesse sighed and laid back into the uncomfortable mattress.

_ I could probably get to Badger’s at 11:30 tomorrow, he wakes up by then, hopefully. Only twelve more hours alone. Only twelve more hours. That’s not a lot, right?  _

The room was silent, dead silent. The only noise came from the occasional car whirring by, barely audible through the window. It was too quiet for Jesse, silence fucked him up, like, majorly. He grabbed the remote beside him and clicked on the TV. It faded slowly in the way old TVs do, Jesse reminiscing to Aunt Ginny’s television, a device as old as she was. He smiled fondly.  

As the image came into view, the program was preset to a news station. He leaned back, sipping on his lukewarm Walmart beer. 

Immediately, a familiar face flashed across the screen. A news reporter, caked in makeup and dressed in a peacoat droned on in a grave tone as a picture of a family rested in the corner. A boy was in the middle, head cocked awkwardly up and lips drooped unnaturally off to the side, parted slightly. He had dark hair and dark eyes that squinted with a camera induced, honeyed over smile. A blonde woman with bright blue eyes leaned in next to him and an arm was thrown over the boy’s shoulder. Jesse’s eyes trailed down the arm and at the end of it was- oh holy shit- 

“Mr. White.”

Jesse said the name incredulously, breathed it out in one heave. He still had his hair and mustache, a near forgotten look of his glory days as a chemistry teacher, and _ only _ a chemistry teacher. “Apply yourself” bounced off the corners of Jesse’s mind. He looked so much younger, so much healthier. His face wasn’t lined or creased, it hadn’t yet grown gaunt from the chemo or the crime. He looked so human, so normal and so like the Mr. Chips wannabe, goody two shoes he used to be. A red box with the headline of the night rolled across the bottom of the screen. It read “Walter Walter, infamous drug kingpin ‘Heisenberg’ found dead.” 

Jesse’s heart sank, it fell like a stone through water. A cold wave rushed across his body, emanating from his chest. His throat began to restrict the flow of air, his lungs closing themselves off soon after. Fuck. He didn’t know what was worse: that the dude was dead, or that he could  _ not  _ give less of a shit. Jesse raised the bottle of beer up, giving a celebratory cheers and nod in the direction of the TV. 

“Ding dong, the wicked witch is dead.” He cackled, before sipping the beer. It tasted as cheap as it was, but it was so much easier to wash down the lump in his throat with it than without. He felt a strange giddy cheerfulness staring at the image of Mr. White knowing that he was old news, uh, figuratively speaking. He could feel his freshly shaved face warp into a wicked grin, the corners of his mouth turning sourly up. Damn, did he feel like that dude from Clockwork Orange. Alex, was it? Yeah, him. He felt evil, wretched, but relief and joy still overcame him. He continued to stare at the picture, “Image credit to “ [ Www.savewalterwhite.com ](http://www.savewalterwhite.com) ” written beneath. He looked at Mr. White and just thought how in a few years, that man would be a murderer. How this typical, dorky, stick-up-his-ass teacher would ruin his life again, but in much worse ways than a failed semester grade. Jesse clenched his jaw and shifted his beer into his other hand, reaching for the remote with the other. He clicked the TV off and settled into the bed, climbing under the blankets. This was the first bed he’d been in in months. It sucked serious dick that it was a literal sack of bricks, it  _ would’ve _ been nice otherwise. 

He tried to close his eyes, screwing them shut and focusing in on falling asleep. He felt tired, worn down from all the crying and driving and running around that day. However, sleep evaded him again and a familiar face flashed across his eyelids. 

_ Jesse, Jesse.  _

Jesse tossed to the other side of the bed, the side with the window and a miniscule sliver of light filtering in through the musty curtains. His eyes burned, his stomach was hollow. 

_ Jesse, Jesse, look at me son.  _

No, no, no.

_ Jesse, wake up, Jesse! Jesse, Jesse, Jesse! Hey, it’s me, it’s Walt. It’s Walt. _

Oh God, why don’t you leave me alone? Please, just this once. You’re dead. You’re dead, gone. I don’t need you anymore, fifty-fifty partnership doesn’t apply to the occupancy of my brain, asshole.  

_ Come on, help me out now. _

No, no, no, no, no. No, no. 

_ Come on, help me out now. _

Please, get out of my head. Just do me this one favor, just this one night. Please, let me have this. 

_ Listen, Jesse, you’re not good right here, you are not good at all.  _

Jesse turned back the way he was originally facing, 12:06 flashing in his face, neon green against the black of the room. The numbers burned themselves into this retinas, even after they flipped. 12:07, 12:08, blink. 12:15, 12:16, blink. 1:36, 1:37, blink. 2:57, 2:58, blink. 4:01. 4:02. 4:03. 

_ Just, put your arms around me. Come on, you’re gonna stand up, we’re gonna walk out of here, okay? We’re gonna take you someplace nice and safe. _

Suddenly, Jesse found himself on his feet, compelled forward. He ambled over to the dresser, snatching his car keys. He felt his feet move automatically. He was robotic, mind in a jar somewhere. Probably back at J.P Wynne High School, in a locked chemistry room closet among the  Kjeldahl-style recovery flasks , (800 milliliters) the Erlenmeyer flasks,  the volumetric flasks, taking the place of the former piéce de résistance, a round-bottom boiling flask, 5,000 milliliters. It sat swimming in chemicals that later would be fumes sighed out of a 1986 Fleetwood Bounder, To'hajiilee breathing them into its archaic lungs. 

_ That’s it, that’s it, now let’s go. Come on, here we go.  _

Jesse approached the door, only recognizable by the pinhead sized beam of light coming in through the peephole into the hallway. This, this is where he was supposed to break down. He fell forward, imagining Mr. White in front of him. 

With a thud, Jesse landed on the floor, dead weight. His eyes flung wide open. He gasped for air. His bruised ribs taking the impact sent his whole body crumbling into itself in pain. 

_ Jesse, Jesse, look at me.  _

Jesse looked up, hands gripping around himself in some kind of pain. There was no one. 

 

. . . 

 

Jesse stepped on Badger’s doorstep, rubbing his eyes and checking the number on the apartment twice. Yup, 241. This was it. Two days without sleep, and Jesse’s memory was still somewhat intact. His head felt like it was filled with cotton, or radio static, or something. He felt nothing. Numbness had overcome his bruised and overworked brain. He shut off all his senses and concentrated onwards. However, he still felt a tiny rise in his chest at the thought of seeing Badger for the first time since you know, everything. 

He steeled his nerves and pressed the doorbell, hearing it sound. The next step was to wait. Badger was always a little slow. 

After a moment or two, Badger opened the door, still dressed in pajamas at 11:30 am. His curly hair spilled out from the beanie he wore, his Star Wars shirt draped loosely over his body. He was languid, eyes nearly shut and one arm propped against the door, steadying him, the other hanging there. He looked just as he always did. Jesse suddenly felt very self conscious. Man, did he look like _ shit. _ Seeing Badger so normal looking made Jesse feel even further from him than he already had. 

Badger yawned and opened his eyes just enough to make out Jesse in front of him. When he looked at him, really looked, his eyes shot open and he danced back. 

“Whoa! Dude! You look like  _ shit! _ ” Badger jibed, affirming Jesse’s suspicions, yelling and making wild hand gestures all over the place, bouncing about.

Another familiar face appeared in the doorway, Skinny Pete ambling over to check out the commotion and the apparent shit show outside. Upon catching a glimpse of Jesse, his face dropped.

“Damn man, what happened to you? Bear? Bus? Lady trouble?” Skinny chimed in. He, too, looked as he always did. He was even dressed in his characteristic beanie, wife beater, and hoodie getup. God, Jesse was fucked up. It was all he could think about looking at his friends. 

Jesse eyed them both coldly, “Can I come in, or what?” 

Badger motioned him inward, looking clearly shocked at Jesse’s new grave nature, “Mi casa is you casa, bro.” 

Jesse walked into Badger’s apartment and was pleasantly unsurprised to find that it still smelled as rank as always. The aroma of body odor, weed, and cat piss still wafted through the place. He looked around, noting that nothing had changed. Comic books still were strewn about, rotting food was left around, dirty plates and dishes, the same old flat screen, and the patched up, mangled couches in front of it hadn’t moved an inch. 

“So man, where ya’ been?” Badger said, eyeballing Jesse as he stood there, observing the room. 

“Yeah, we’ve been thinkin’ you were all up in Alaska with a bunch of  them polar bears and Eskimo chicks and shit.” Skinny Pete added in, trailing after Badger. The two stood side by side, facing Jesse. 

Jesse looked to Badger, then to Skinny Pete and didn’t say a word. They both froze and exchanged glances at each other, unsure of what to say next. Jesse grew ever more impatient to get on with business. 

“And like, shit dude, what’s up with your face?” Gawked Skinny Pete, eyes zeroing in on Jesse’s newly obtained scars. He then stumbled back, throwing a hand up to rub his neck, averting Jesse’s stoic gaze. “Not that it’s bad, or anything like that.” 

Badger cringed. His eyes disappeared under his mess of hair. Jesse stared, he made no attempt at an expression or any comment back, he just watched them both with mild irritation. “Can I like, sit down or something?”

“Oh, uh, sure, sure, whatever you want.” Badger said before he ran and vaulted over the back of one couch, landing on it with a spring-loaded squeak. Jesse walked over and sat on the other one, rigid. Skinny imitated Badger, walking over to the back of the last free space on the couch, sticking a hand on it to throw himself up and over, next to Badger. 

They all sat and stared at each other in awkward silence, something that almost never happened. Sure, Badger was sober, it was too early for him to break out the crystal, but even sober, he wasn’t ever short on words. Skinny Pete was much the same, but no one spoke. Badger and Skinny Pete sat relaxed and sprawled out, as chill as ever. Jesse appeared irritated, face unchanged. He sat on the couch, leaning back, but his shoulders and spine were straight, legs spread in front of him. Though he nearly disappeared into the hoodie he wore, Badger and Skinny Pete couldn’t help but notice the immense amount of weight he dropped, something Badger was so, like, completely and one hundred percent sure was definitely not okay, at all, man. Skinny Pete eyeballed the guy with concern, not sure what to say. The scars weren’t looking any better either. They became the elephant in the room for them all. Jesse was conscious of them studying him. Normally, he would’ve been able to make one of his “What are you, gay?” jibes. This time, his confidence didn’t permit it. Instead, they all just sat there, Jesse now bouncing his leg and Badger and Skinny Pete looking anywhere but in his direction. 

Jesse broke the silence, leaning forward to put his elbows onto his knees. “I need to get outta here.” Skinny Pete and Badger listened, still fixated on Jesse’s disheveled appearance, but they listened. “I don’t care if you come or not, but I’m out, alright?”

“Is this what you came here for? To tell us you’re leaving? You just got here bro, at least stay awhile, we got a whole lotta cash recently, your friend Heisenberg hired us to point some lasers at a bunch of fancy rich people- man it was weird as all fuck. But anyway, I got some good shit man, I mean like,  _ good _ -” Jesse’s face interrupted Badger’s passion. His skin was white. He closely resembled a zombie, straight from Left for Dead, looking all cranial like when you cap them in the head. Although, Badger would argue he was more comparable to the ones from Resident Evil IV, by a long shot. Jesse looked at them, eyes wide and face morphed into what looked almost like terror, somewhat like shock.

“What is it? Did I say something?” Badger pondered, brow knit into concern and eyes gleaming with unsure guilt. 

“You saw,” Jesse paused, gathering his breath, “Mr. White?” He couldn’t help but note his use of “friend”, which sparked some fury in the empty pit of Jesse’s stomach. 

“Oh yeah, totally. You know, he looked like shit too!” Badger admitted, perking up awfully fast. He sat right up, prepared to fly into another tangent. 

“Like, real bad.” Skinny added in, nodding to affirm to severity of the shit. 

“Uh huh, he had this wacky beard and new ‘do, totally jank. He gave us a couple G’s though. He was asking for you-”

Jesse froze. His breathing stopped and he felt his heart grow icey. He sighed out, “Badger-” 

Badger ignored him. He continued to ramble on, “Oh yeah! Are you still cookin’ because yo, I swear, you are like, the Master Chef of meth-”

“Badger!” Jesse interrupted, throwing his head down into his hands, obscuring his face. Both Badger and Skinny Pete were called to attention, eyes widening and shrinking bad into the couch, having nearly leapt up from excitement. Jesse gathered all the air he had left in him and muttered what he had been trying to say. “What did he tell you?”

Badger shifted awkwardly. “Man, I dunno, it was a few days ago-”

“Days?” Jesse echoed, lifting his head up, still exasperated. “You mean this was like, recent?” 

“Yeah, I dunno, two days,” he turned to Skinny Pete, “right?” Skinny nodded, eyes still more bugged out than usual. They were both squirming in discomfort, the tension between them and butt-hurt zombie mode Jesse growing. 

_ Two days- that’s when he came and shot up Jack and all his guys, that’s when I left. _

“What did he say, Badger?” Jesse fumed through gritted teeth, face reddening. 

Badger saw the anger boiling in him and started to panic. “Look, Jesse, I- I don’t remember much. We were in his car after the lasers. He just asked if the blue stuff was still goin’ round, I asked if it was him and then he got all rip shit and figured it was you before totally peeling out and hauling ass down the road.” 

“What do you mean ‘rip shit’?” Jesse asked, making air quotes. His oversized sweatshirt sleeves slid down his arms with the motion, revealing the angry red abrasions that his restraints left, blue and purple bruises splotching the skin around them. Badger and Skinny Pete stared, making no effort to hide it. Jesse immediately shot his arms down, tugging on his sleeves and shouted, “Badger, answer me!” 

Badger, dumbfounded, stammered “Uh, he just- he just said ‘Jesse!’,” Badger imitated his voice like Darth Vader, much to Skinny’s inappropriately timed amusement, nearly drawing a smile out of him, “and then he booked it!”

Jesse sat on the thought. 

_ Was he angry? Would Mr. White really come and bail me out if he was that mad? Or did he just have like, a change of heart or some shit? Why did he even save me? He didn’t care, he didn’t, nah, he didn’t give a single shit about me. He never cared, right? He couldn’t have. No fucking way.  _

Silently, Jesse grew more and more agitated and upset. Badger and Skinny Pete could only watch. Badger meekly spoke up, voice rattling. “Sorry man, that’s all I know.”

Skinny looked down to the floor, wringing his hands. “Yeah bro, me too. Sorry.” 

Jesse waved them off, “Whatever. Doesn’t change jack shit. I’m out of here tomorrow, you guys in or out?”

Badger threw up both hands and shot a look to Skinny Pete, who appeared just as incredulous. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what? You want us to got too?” Badger babbled. 

Skinny Pete cocked an eyebrow, shifting his gray beanie slightly upwards. “What’s with you, askin’ us to skip out on the ABQ? This is our home man. Where we gonna go?”

Jesse shrugged. “Dunno yet.”

Badger reeled, still left in the dark and frantic. “Jesse, what the hell happened to you?”

Jesse screwed his eyes shut then opened them with a renewed protective rage, “Alright, look. Don’t ask questions, I’m not answering.” He picked his elbows up from his knees, throwing his hands flat on his lap and leaning back. “Now, you in, or out?”

Skinny Pete casted a sympathetic glance at Badger. He shrugged nonchalantly, adding in “I dunno man, I guess a change of scenery isn’t too bad. Doesn’t have to be permanent, right?” 

Jesse stared, emotion yet to spread across his face. “No one’s making you do anything.”

“I mean, I still don’t know about this Jesse. We’re all for hanging man, but this is like, a big decision. Give us some time.” Badger said, holding the same anxious and unsure look that Skinny Pete did. 

“Twenty-four hours.” Demanded Jesse.

Badger obliged, giving in and looking sorry. “Fine, okay, a day.” 

Jesse rose to his feet, adjusting to the change in position shakily. “Good. See you tomorrow.”  
He then walked over to the door, casting a glance to both Badger and Skinny Pete individually. They both stared back, wondering where their friend was going- or had already went. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hoped u enjoyed the resurfacing of these two!!! More to come soon!!!


	5. Hitch Hiker's Thumb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse tries to persuade Skinny Pete and Badger to move out of Albuquerque with him. Later, the two begin to question Jesse's sanity.

The morning brought Jesse back to Badger's doorstep. He double checked the number, 241. He came with his backpack already packed for the trip, whether Skinny Pete and Badger were in or not. 

  
Inside, the pair slept, spread out on respective couches. Both were out cold, Badger snoring lightly. This all, however, was brought to a halt with a rap on the door. Skinny Pete was the first to wake. He jumped quickly up and ran to the door with a particular fervor uncommon for him in the morning. He slid over the lock and opened it. Jesse stood outside in the same rigid position he did yesterday, face devoid of expression. Skinny motioned for him to come in with the thing closest he could muster to a smile, struggling between the tiredness and the awkwardness. He _tried_ to be excited about this, but something about it just felt forced.   
  
Jesse walked in, Badger rousing from his sleep simultaneously. He hadn’t changed clothes since yesterday, maybe longer. Nobody knew. He threw an arm up in the air, gripping it with the other, yawning and stretching. "Oh, Jesse," he smacked his lips together, voice muddled with sleep, "you're here."  
  
Jesse stared. He dropped the backpack with the money and miscellaneous items he had brought by the door with a muffled thud. Skinny Pete hobbled back over to his couch, plopping down. Jesse stood in place eerily still, watching them with his hands now shoved in his pockets.   
  
"So man, you want like, breakfast or something?" Badger asked Jesse, getting up off the couch and making his way slowly to his cluttered kitchen. He began sifting through cupboards, throwing various boxes of colorful cereal onto the counter below him. Badger shuffled to the fridge, threw open the doors with a pop, and placed three nearly empty milk jugs onto the counter next to the cereal. "Take your pick. Welcome to Badger's world famous bed and breakfast, hell yeah." He joked, opening a box of Captain Crunch and pouring it into an obviously used bowl. Skinny Pete swaggered forward, rubbing his hands together excitedly. He joined in on pouring cereal with Badger, Jesse still lingering in the back. He made his way over only to sit at Badger's dish and comic book littered table, empty handed. The other two boys sat down and began feasting, loudly arguing over some first person shooter Jesse hadn’t yet familiarized himself with, cereal spraying from their mouths. They ignored Jesse at first. He put his head down onto his arms, folded beneath him and watched his friends listlessly, drifting in and out of thought.   
  
Skinny Pete spoke up, "Yo, Jesse, how about you eat somethin'? You’re lookin' awfully lanky and shit bro."   
  
Jesse’s eyes flashed up from his arms. "Gee, thanks." He hissed.  
  
Skinny looked down, taking a bite of his cereal, "Just sayin'." He added with a shrug and eyeroll. 

Jesse knew he was thin. He wasn’t happy about it, his meltdown a few days ago attesting to that fact. Anytime his weight was brought up he felt an almost rage inducing self-consciousness that burned his face red hot and rendered him defensive. He had barely eaten in the past three days. In fact, all he could recollect trying to eat was a bag of funyuns, a box of powdered donuts, and a gas station breakfast burrito, all of which he wasn’t too successful with.

Jesse wasn’t sure how to deter the conversation about his appearance anymore than he already had. The baggy clothes, hair, and stubble proved useless at hiding anything. They had even seen the wounds left by the handcuffs, something he never wanted out in the open. He felt exposed, too vulnerable in front of his old friends. He thought back to his time in the concrete pit of the compound, when Todd would bring him food.

Every day, he’d climb down with the leftover scraps he scavenged from the clubhouse in one hand, the other gripping onto the rusted steel ladder. 

It was the second week of Jesse being held captive, the journey at its brutal beginning. He was still in immense pain from the first beating. It took a full day for Jesse to realize he had broken ribs. The bruises were exploding in different hues of red and purple. Every time he breathed in, pain ripped through his side. He found himself calculating every breath he could manage, ensuring he didn’t push anything too far. However, this only removed a minimal amount of anguish. Every tiny movement was excruciating. During his first cook, (Something of a nightmare in and of itself, an event Jesse did not want to recall.) he often found himself hunched over onto the side of the cooking vat or passed out, leaning on the finishing tank. He couldn’t sleep, risking falling unconscious and rolling onto the injury was suicide; he shuddered at the thought of it. 

One afternoon, while the pit was a microcosm of New Mexico’s frigid March daytime temperatures, Todd threw off the tarp above and began his dissent down, holding a brown paper bag in one hand. A wave of cold air moved through the pit, causing Jesse to shiver and thus, release a gasp of pain. The gasp itself even hurt. Jesse’s lungs pushed on his broken bones. Even his own body was destroying him. 

Todd leapt down with an echo and walked over to Jesse, slowly, calmly. “Hey Jesse,” he began with a warm tone, “how’s the ribs?”

“How do you think?” Jesse spit with a wince. Coming from anyone else, Todd’s voice may have held a hint of concern. However, Jesse knew Todd. He was taunting him. 

“Well, here,” Todd dropped the paper bag next to him. “I brought you PB & J.”

“Thanks.” Jesse muttered. He didn’t mean it. He hated him. He hated this place. 

“You know Jesse, that cook you did? It was only 77% pure.” Todd told him, inflection unwavering. He stood over him, stared down at Jesse, eyes dead but lips turned up into a sly smile. Jesse was sitting up on his rickety, tattered junk yard mattress, leaned against the wall to take the pressure off his ribs. His face was horribly red and swollen, still bruised, battered, sliced, and bloodied from the initial beating. His eyes were rimmed and red from the minimal amount of sleep he had been getting and all the horrible sobbing he had done in lieu. 

Jesse looked up, readying himself to plead his way out of another beating. Nobody had kicked him around too badly since the first day, only the occasional swing in the face from Kenny, Jack’s second in command. Not to say that didn’t hurt like an absolute bitch. “I can barely walk, I can’t cook right now.”

Todd nodded. “I see that.” He sat down next to Jesse, elbows on his knees, eyeing him watchfully. “You know, Jesse, I saved your life. I told my uncle Jack not to kill you back there because you’re useful. I believe in you. Are you gonna prove me right, Jesse?”

_ Apply yourself.  _ Mr. White’s voice seemed to creep into Jesse’s head. He didn’t know which monster he favored at this point: Mr. White or Todd. 

"I didn’t ask for this.” Jesse mumbled through clenched teeth. He felt anger rising within him, heating up his freezing body. 

“I’m sorry, Jesse, I really am. But, we need you. Just do your best, I know you can do better than last time.” Todd told him, feigning sympathy. He didn’t shift his gaze at all. He remained vaguely smiling.

“Fuck you.” Jesse murmured.

“What?” 

Todd’s expression didn’t change, nor did his tone.

Jesse raised his voice. “I said, fuck you!”

“Jesse, I-”

Before Todd could finish his sentence Jesse threw a punch at Todd’s head, throwing him off the mattress and rendering him unconscious on the concrete. 

“Oh shit.” Jesse whispered frantically. “Shit, no, no, no!”

He stared at Todd’s body, him lying limply on the ground, eyes shut and mouth open. It was at that moment he heard a voice above him.

“Todd? What’s the hold up?”

It was Kenny. Jesse’s heart began racing. He started to sweat despite the temperature outside. Kenny walked over the grate and peered down, catching sight of Todd out cold on the ground. 

“You son of a bitch!” Kenny screamed before he threw upon the hatch and raced down the latter. He stepped right over Todd’s still body and jumped at Jesse’s throat, slamming him against the wall. Jesse’s head hit the concrete and bounced. A familiar pain ran through his skull. His face began to bleed where the cuts hadn’t yet healed. While his ribs took no impact, they still sang with agony. Jesse let out a loud yelp and fell like a rag doll under Kenny’s grip.

“You do this to him?” He shook Jesse, tightening his hand around his neck. This caused him to flinch back harshly. “You did this? Huh, rat?"

Jesse just stared, terrified. His whole body was screaming in pain, but also numb with the cold at the same time. 

“Fucking piece of shit!” Kenny screamed, voice bouncing off the walls and ringing outside. He lifted Jesse away from the concrete, crushing his windpipe with his grasp. Jesse felt himself growing dizzy, unable to breathe and overcome with anguish. Kenny held him there for a second, eyes open wide and shining with fury, breathing heavy over him. His eyebrows pinched together and his cheeks flushed red. In another moment, Jesse was slammed against the wall. He felt his head connect to concrete, then again to the stone of the floor. His vision drifted in and out, agony spreading over his body. Then, the world went black.

Jesse snapped back to the present with a shudder. 

“So, Jesse, like, when would this whole moving plan be going down?” Badger said, breaking the awkward tension.

Jesse picked his head up from his hands. Fuck, he was exhausted. “If we’re gonna do it, we’re doing it tonight.” He asserted. 

“Tonight?” Badger exclaimed, eyes widening and cheeks full of cereal. “Still?”

“Yes, tonight.” Jesse affirmed, throwing an irritated glance at him. “I need to get out of here, okay? The cops could be hanging back at that motel just waiting for me.”

Skinny Pete looked caught off guard, now rigid and weary. “Cops?” 

“Yes cops, you moron.” Jesse exasperated. He didn’t understand what these guys weren't getting. “I’m a criminal.” 

“I mean, yeah!” Badger interrupted, “But, you and Heisenberg man, you guys were untouchable! Like- like the Supermen of meth, with no kryptonite or nothin’ yo!” He leaned back in his chair, getting excited. Badger had a way of bringing his obliviousness into everything, much to Jesse’s annoyance.

“He’s dead! He’s fucking dead! The great Heisenberg is no more, got it?” Jesse lashed out. He noticed himself spitting “Heisenberg” with a sarcastic tone, hatred bubbling up in him. He gave a cold stare to Badger and narrowed his eyes, a lump settling in his throat. He found his voice rattling into every corner of the room. The sound caught him off guard. It was so cutting and loud, angry. He didn’t mean to like, jump down Badger’s throat or anything. In fact, he didn’t even  _ care _ about what Badger had said. Why was he yelling? 

Badger lost his energy immediately, settling down into his seat and looking at the floor. “Yo, I’m sorry I didn’t-” he breathed out solemnly, “I hadn’t heard yet, or anything.” He spoke slowly, sheepishly. 

Skinny Pete casted a sympathetic glance towards Jesse, brow knitted with concern and eyes drooping. “Damn man, tough luck, huh?”

“I don’t care.” Jesse started, “He could’ve died a long time ago and I would have been just fine.” He stared downwards. 

He knew this wasn’t true. He knew he wouldn’t have been just fine. He still would’ve been stuck in that goddamn Nazi death camp. He would’ve been killed by Gus, or left left to rot away in the crack house after Jane died, destined to OD. Or maybe- maybe he would’ve been caught by the Feds. Maybe he would’ve had no one at all for the past two years without Mr. White.

_ No, no. Fuck that. He did all that to me, he caused all of that. He was the one that took everyone away from me! Come on, Jesse, snap out of it.  _

Anytime Jesse caught himself questioning him and Mr. White’s relationship, he wanted to smack himself across the face. He hated to think about it.

Badger lifted Jesse out of his rumination. “Alright, sorry bro.” His tone was entirely apologetic. He wouldn’t meet Jesse’s eyes. 

“So, like, this whole skippin’ out deal, how would we get there?” Skinny asked.

“I’m gonna drive, see where it takes me. I'm headed East, dunno how far yet. No different if you two decide to come.” Jesse looked at both Skinny Pete and Badger. They both held the same conflicted expression. They were between their home and their friend, and Jesse wanted to sway them to the latter. He knew he couldn’t do this alone despite what he wanted to lead on. 

Jesse started up, “If you come with me I promise you’ll live your lives cop free. If you’ve come in contact with Mr. White recently, that’s something you might wanna look into.”

Badger and Skinny Pete continued to listen, eyes fixed on Jesse. It seemed like they were interested.    
  
"There would be a new life for us all, new place, new people, new business." Jesse continued. He held eye contact with the both of them, switching his gaze occasionally. He kept his expression serious, professional for him. 

  
"Business?" Skinny Pete questioned, cocking an eyebrow. He leaned in closer.    
  
"Yes, business. If any of us ever decide to cook or sell again. It's new territory." Jesse explained, folding his hands in front of him, fingers interlocked. He looked at Badger and Skinny, giving them a wry smile. Jesse didn't plan to cook or sell again, no way in hell. However, he needed the upper hand in this. 

  
Badger looked at Skinny Pete, "I dunno man, he's right. We could use a fresh start.  We can't have the cops on us, yo."   
  
Skinny Pete nodded. "Yeah man, I guess it doesn't have to be forever. It's like, a really long vacation or some shit."    
  
"It's forever for me." Jesse said, "But, if for you it’s only for a little while, fine."   
  
Badger nodded and smiled broadly, clapping his hands together, the sudden noise causing Jesse to flinch. "Yeah! Road trip!" Badger cheered.    
  
Skinny Pete grinned too, nodding in agreement. "Guess that's a yes from us Jess!" He added in with confidence.    
  
"Great. We leave tonight, no exceptions. Get packing." Jesse told them, smiling along. 

  
"I better be on the move then." Skinny Pete announced, getting up and giving Badger a goodbye slap on the back and a nod in Jesse's direction. Badger waved. Jesse nodded back.

  
Skinny Pete slipped away out the door and left Jesse and Badger alone. Jesse stared, Badger stared back, twiddling his thumbs, silence coming between them. Jesse found himself growing increasingly tired. He had noticed himself momentarily passing out occasionally now, his eyes shutting for a few seconds and then him jolting up, confused. It had been going on for days now, the last time he slept more than an hour being when he first escaped. This occurred as he stared down Badger, and when he opened his eyes, blinking in bewilderment, he saw that Badger took notice. His eyes flashed with concern. 

Badger began, “Yo Jesse, you're looking-”

Jesse felt a flash of heat in his face. He attempted to continue Badger’s sentence. “Awful? Gross? Skinny? Beaten up?  _ Dead?  _ Thanks for noticing.”

“Tired. You're looking tired.” Badger said, blinking in shock at Jesse’s quick assumption. Like, damn, were him and Skinny really that harsh on the guy? They never meant to be. 

Jesse shrank into his seat, embarrassed at his bout of insecurity and anger. 

“How about you settle down for a quick nap man. You need it before tonight.” Badger offered, throwing a nod over in the couch’s direction. 

“I’m fine.” Jesse murmured defiantly, beginning to find his head bobbing slightly back and forth on the occasion. His eyes were cloudy every time he moved them. 

“No, like, really, Jesse.” Badger insisted. His tone was growing more serious. Jesse took the concern to heart and sighed. He obliged and got up slowly out of his chair. 

“Alright, fine. I'll try.” Jesse mumbled. Immediately after, he yawned, covering his mouth with his sweatshirt sleeve.

He walked over to the couch and threw himself down onto it. It wasn't exactly comfortable. It was reminiscent of his shitty motel room bed actually. Except, it smelled like shit. But, like, whatever. Beggars can't be choosers, even if he didn't even  _ ask _ for this. 

Within a few moments, Jesse began to drift in and out of sleep. He'd doze off and then wake up with a start, sitting up slightly and checking his surroundings. Each time he found nothing had changed with the exception of Badger, his nose buried in a different comic book. He leaned back in his chair precariously and read, tongue sticking out the side of his mouth in concentration. 

Jesse soon fell asleep, twitching every so often on the couch. He was curled up protectively into himself, an old habit that probably would never fade away. Badger observed the sleeping Jesse every now and then, a faint yelp or rustle coming from the couch at the beginning. Jesse was dreaming, Badger thought. 

It was the same dream that plagued his mind since April of last year. It always started the same way, Gale opening the door. Jesse stared, Gale stared back, the dorky old chemist’s expression friendly and welcoming, unsuspecting maybe at first. His house was cluttered with books and oddities, what you’d expect from him. Even if he was terrified, he always said what he did next in the same warm way. 

“Hi. How can I help you?” 

Jesse felt his heart clench, his whole body growing cold and then hot, burning hot. His heart unpaused and began to race. His eyes burned with tears. They pricked at the backs of them, threatening to spill over. It was then that Jesse fumbled for his gun, shoved in the band of his jeans in the back. His fingers gripped the cold metal, whipping it to the front, killing power heavy in his hands. The Beretta 84F, the same gun he once wanted to hold to the temples of Tom ás’s assailants. This time, he would do anything not to be in that position, he wished he never even thought about killing anyone,  _ ever. _

Gale toddled backwards, breathing heavily now and jaw slack in shock. His eyes shifted from Jesse’s face to the Beretta, pointing right at him. His face twitched, trying to form panicked words, “Um,” he drew a quick, quavering breath in, looking at Jesse once more, “Take whatever you want.” He said. He gave a slight gasp, a nervous laugh, “I-I have money, I-I-I got a lot of money.” 

Gale continued to babble and stutter. Jesse stared, gun still held straight out. It was so heavy, his arm aching from the weight of the situation and the weapon. The tears had welled up in his eyes and his lips trembled, his whole body beginning to shake. He couldn’t do it. No. 

A moment came where the two men just stared at each other, both in the early stages of crying, Jesse far less composed than Gale, however. He couldn’t do it. 

“Don’t do this.” Gale murmured quietly. 

Jesse heaved in a shaking breath, tears rolling down his cheeks. He shook, hard.

Gale removed his eyes from Jesse’s, staring down at the floor. He began to shake too, breath rapid and uneven now. “You-you,” he stuttered.

Jesse bit his lip, trying to avoid spilling more tears. They just kept coming. His face was flush, hot from panic and desperation. He didn’t want to be in this situation anymore than Gale. He just couldn’t do it. 

Gale began to weep, eyes bugging out of his head and voice desperate. “You don’t have to do this.” He shook his head subtly, slowly, and looked up at Jesse, eyes pleading and glistening with hot tears. 

That was when Jesse did it- pulled the trigger, sobs wracking his body. The gun exploded and sent a shot straight into Gale’s eye before any tears of his could ever really spill. 

Jesse awoke with a start, panting and gasping for air. He looked up and Badger was watching him, eyes wide. He was still holding a comic book, but it was now flat on the table. Jesse and Badger exchanged looks before Jesse settled back down, trying to catch his breath. His chest heaved up and down rapidly. He couldn’t control it, his lungs burned for oxygen even when he was gulping down air. He shook as if the Beretta still was clenched in his hands, the weight bearing down on his shoulder. 

Badger spoke up, softly. “Hey Jesse, you awake there man?”

“Yeah,” Jesse sighed, “I’m awake.” 

“Oh,” Badger said flatly, “alright.”

Everything settled back into silence. Badger rustled the pages of his comic book and presumably, went back to reading. Jesse tried to close his eyes again, will himself into an idealistically more peaceful sleep. 

“I’m gonna go pack, okay?” Badger told Jesse. Jesse hummed an “mmhmm” and Badger got up and began to walk towards his room. He tried to catch a quick glimpse of Jesse laying on the couch, craning his neck over his shoulder as he started down the hallway to his bedroom. Jesse pretended to ignore this.

Badger continued leisurely down the hall. He quietly slipped into his bedroom, shutting the door as lightly as possible. Once he was in, he raced to his closet. Grabbing his big black duffle bag, he ran to the bed and hauled it up and onto it. He unzipped the bag quickly and then fumbled on the nightstand near it for his phone. He picked it up and punched in Skinny Pete’s number with wild fervor. 

Badger let it ring a few times, Skinny Pete picking up. “Yo, Badger, what’s happenin’?”

“It’s Jesse man.” Badger panted, “He’s all like, whacked out. It’s crazy! You should’ve heard him-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down bro. What about Jesse?” Skinny Pete interrupted. 

“He was sleeping on my couch because he was super tired and shit, right? I let him lay down and once he was asleep- get this- he started kicking around and like, screaming shit yo!”

“Some people do that, you know. It can be kinda normal, can’t it?” Skinny Pete queried, going out on a limb. He didn’t want to believe the severity of whatever the hell it was Jesse had been through. He didn’t like to see Jesse like this. He was his friend, after all, no matter how long he had been gone. 

“Nah man, he kept saying he was sorry, over and over. Creepy as hell. He was shaking and twitching, lookin’ mad possessed and shit! He’s fucked the fuck up!” Badger exasperated in a whisper, putting emphasis on the words “fuck”. He was trying to keep his voice down to avoid Jesse hearing anything. He was sitting on his bed, gesturing wildly with the phone still held to his ear.

“Yeah bro, I know. He’s way far gone. I dunno what happened to him, but it must’ve been bad. Really fuckin’ bad.” Skinny Pete added in, voice hollow with worry. 

Badger lowered his volume even more, “Are you sure this whole road trip thing is a good idea?”

“We can’t just let him go alone! Come on, let’s go along for a while, see how it turns out. That’s what I’m thinking man.” Skinny Pete implored. Badger understood from Skinny’s adamant tone. After Combo’s death, it was no man left behind. That included Jesse, even if he had lost a couple of his marbles. 

Badger sighed impatiently. “Alright, yeah, I know. This is just freaky dude, real freaky!” Badger paused and realized how long he had been gone. “I gotta go pack, later.”

“Later.” Skinny Pete echoed back.

Badger snapped his phone shut and threw it into the open duffle bag next to him. He shoved anything he thought he needed and then some into it until the bag strained at its seams. He zippered it shut with a comically long struggle and then dragged it out of the room. He shuffled with it down the hall, bending down to let it rest on the floor and ease the strain of the weight every few seconds. When he got back to the living room, he was unsurprised to see Jesse laying on the couch, flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling. 

Badger feigned enthusiasm, “Alright Jesse! I’m ready, operation road trip: commence!” He yelled, trying to get Jesse as pumped as Badger thought he ought to be.  

Instead, Jesse just laid there staring, and Badger trudged his way back to the table, wondering what was going on in Jesse’s mind or what was so interesting about his ceiling.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! All of your comments and kudos are much appreciated!!! We're on the road next chapter. It's about to get a lil wild. C;


	6. Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road trip begins and so do some strange new habits for Jesse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took forever to update this time!!! I was rly busy. It should be more frequent now.

Badger's car idled in front of his apartment, the only noise in the otherwise silent twilight. The world was stilled, plum and various cotton candy hues took up residence in the early night sky. It was still pretty light out, but sunlight was fading as the three boys were just finishing packing. Jesse leaned against the trunk of Badger’s Pontiac, smoking one of the packs of cigarettes he had bought at Walmart. It was a huge relief to be able to smoke up again and it eased some of his nerves about the trip.   
  
Badger was inside, fumbling around with maps and snacks, shoving Cheetos, hot pockets, and an atlas in an old grocery bag. Skinny Pete was right along beside him, blankets under one arm and a six pack in the other.  They both ran out, racing down the three brick steps leading to Badger's door. Jesse pushed off of the trunk and moved over to watch the commotion. The boys shoved the various items they carried into it, running back into the house after to gather more.    
  
Jesse sighed. He looked longingly into the distance, wondering if he'd miss Albuquerque. Some of him said yes, some of his earliest and best memories forming there. The other half of him said no fucking way. It was just riddled with nightmares and constant reminders of the past two years. He took another drag of his cigarette and then gently blew out the smoke, watching it obscure the scene in front of him. He reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled something out: a new ID. As it turned out, Skinny Pete knew a guy who knew a guy. Jesse paid about twenty-five grand and voila- his new name was Mason McKay. No fancy disappearer vacuum repair bullshit, but it was something. Skinny Pete and Badger didn’t get fake IDs, they didn’t have the money or the DEA chasing after their asses. 

Speaking of the devils, they ran outside hurling the last of the supplies into the trunk as Jesse contemplated. He gave a slight smirk at this. He attempted to obscure it by throwing a hand over his mouth, his cigarette trailing smoke up to his face. He puffed on it again before throwing it on the ground, crushing the glowing embers with his heel.

“So who’s driving?” Jesse asked Badger and Skinny Pete, who were leaning against the truck now. They both exchanged a look and a few whispers, maybe even a light punch on the arm or two.

Badger spoke up. “He is.” He declared with a convicting finger pointed at Skinny Pete, expression smug. Badger reached into the pocket of his cargo pants and fished out his keys. He tossed them to Skinny Pete, who obliged with another punch to Badger’s shoulder and a cold glare as he walked up to the front door. Badger laughed, making his way to the shotgun. 

That left Jesse with the back. He didn’t complain, maybe he could use the space to take another nap or something. He opened the door and slid in, sprawling himself across the seats. 

“Alright, here we go!” Skinny Pete said as he turned the key, the engine purring. He backed out of Badger’s driveway and into the street, peeling down the road to who know’s where.

All was quiet. After about 10 minutes and Jesse giving some simple directions to Skinny Pete, the boys were silent. Skinny turned on some music that he bounced his head to. It was classical, with like, pianos and stuff. He liked to indulge in that shit occasionally. Jesse couldn’t complain. It was kinda peaceful, not like he’d admit it. Badger had his arms folded across his chest and his head on the window, mouth agape and fast asleep. 

Jesse didn’t feel tired, only slightly anxious. Not for any reason in particular, he was just unsettled being in a cramped space again. Him and Badger spent most of the day playing video games, waiting for Skinny Pete to come back after packing. It was fun, he actually  _ enjoyed _ himself. It was just like it used to be, well, sorta. There was a slight awkwardness, a disconnect between two best friends a long time separated, but it was still nice. Jesse loved to be able to do normal things again, shit he really took for granted. Now, Jesse laid across the back seats, feet kicked up near the window. This was one of the only situations his small stature came in handy for. Usually, Jesse hated his height. But right now, it wasn’t so bad. Jesse, bored and wide awake, began to think out of habit.

His mind first wandered to Badger and Skinny Pete, looking up at them in the front seat. He wondered what they thought of him. He also wondered if Badger heard the fitful screams of his nightmare earlier. He shuddered in embarrassment at the thought. He didn’t want to be fucked up. He was of course. but he didn’t want to be. He did everything in his power to make it seem like he was any less fucked up than he actually was. The only hope that he clung onto was that Badger was too oblivious to notice anything and if he did, he didn’t tell anyone, especially Skinny Pete. 

And the nightmare itself- fuck. He just wanted them to stop. He’d been having them for over two years at that point, just getting progressively worse after Gale and  _ especially _ after the nazis. He just wanted them to stop. And Gale, oh God. He always felt guilty for you know,  _ that. _ He hated every bit of him that followed Mr. White’s instructions, gave in. He did do it to save the guy’s life, but look where  _ that _ got everyone. 

Mr. White, ugh. Just the thought of him was painful. The question had been nagging at Jesse since earlier, during the morning when they were all sitting around. Why did he save him? 

_ Mr. White didn’t care about me, there wasn’t a fiber of his being that gave a shit. He gave me to those Nazi bastards, handed me over like I was nothing. Damnit, I was nothing to him, who am I kidding?  _

When it came to Mr. White the thoughts fell like dominoes. Jesse screwed his eyes shut harder. 

_ He killed Jane. He nearly killed Brock. He let me be some bitch’s meth monkey for months, lead them straight to Andrea, fuck. This never would’ve happened if not for him.  _

Slowly, like always, things began to loop around back to Jesse in his mind. The pavement rumbled by and gently shook the seats beneath him.  

_ But, I snitched. I turned on him. I went to the Feds. If I had just stayed by his side like I always- no. He poisoned Brock. I don’t fucking care if he “had” to, there’s no reason- I mean, well, he did need me on his side- but Brock? No, poisoning a kid? Couldn't he have done, I don’t know, literally anything else?  _

Jesse’s breathing began to get heavier, faster. Badger and Skinny Pete still sat quietly up front, the silence tinged with Jesse’s labored breaths. 

_ Why did he keep coming back? Every time he left, he just dragged me back with him. The crack house, when Gus first hired Gale, every time I quit, right ‘til the bitter fucking end, he came back. Why the hell?  _

By this point, Badger still slept but Skinny could hear Jesse mumbling and panting. He gripped the steering wheel hard and didn’t dare turn around. He like, didn’t know  _ what _ that cracker jack was doing. 

_ It doesn’t make sense! He didn’t care- not at all. He was always working me and working me, the guy hadn’t told the truth since he said he knew the chemistry and I knew the business! _

Jesse felt his head growing heavy amidst panic. He hadn’t slept in so long, he didn’t even know how many days at that point. His eyes fluttered shut and his head bobbed down before popping up. 

_ None of it makes sense. It doesn’t make sense. He didn’t care. Why did he save me? Why didn’t he kill me too? Just like everyone else. _

As Jesse dozed off, head leaned on the seat, a groggy Badger lifted his. He turned to Skinny Pete and asked what he’d missed. 

Skinny Pete kept his voice to harsh whisper. “Jesse’s all wacked out man. Not like, dope kind wack either bro! Dude’s batshit!” His brow was furrowed deeply and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. 

Badger gestured urgently, eyes wide. “I told you! Was he talking again?”

Skinny Pete shook his head. “Weirder. Just mumbling to himself, all psycho-like and shit!” 

Badger bowed his head and rubbed his temples before springing back up and whispering “What did we get ourselves into?” 

“I don’t know bro,” Skinny Pete concurred quietly, “but it’s freaky. Real Exorcist shit.” 

The two chattered on for a while, driving, stopping to switch, and continuing on like that again for a few hours. Jesse slept in the back, occasionally grumbling or whimpering. They both ignored him. 

Badger began to play music to keep himself awake. He kept turning it up gradually, until it reached a deafening blare. The whole car shook. Jesse awoke with a terrible start, bashing his head on the door he once rested on. He looked around in a sleep-induced stupor and saw nothing but rolling hills out of the window in front of him. Colorado, he guessed. It was night again, the landscape dark and heavy. 

“Yo, Badger, Skinny.”

The pair turned around. Badger looked for a second before remembering he was driving and hurriedly turned his eyes back to the road. 

“Yeah?” Badger said, yelling back from the front.

“Can we like, retire for the night or something?” Jesse asked, voice muddled with sleep. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, vision still blurring into focus. 

“I dunno Jesse,” Skinny Pete began, “We got a long way to go.” 

Jesse hauled himself to a sitting position, staring up at Badger and Skinny Pete through the rear view mirror with a sour expression and bloodshot eyes. “If it’s my turn to drive next then this will quickly go to shit, alright? I’m beat. Now, can we please find a motel? I don’t care how much it looks like goddamned Crossroads or anything.” Jesse complained.

Badger sighed and complied, riding for a few more miles in silence before turning into a motel. It was as ramshackle as the last one Jesse had seen, but it had to do. Jesse pulled himself out of the car and grabbed his backpack from the trunk. He slammed it shut, slung the bag over hi shoulder and walked up to the front of the car. 

“Meet back here at six a.m sharp. Don’t be late, okay? No sleeping in.” Jesse demanded to Badger and Skinny Pete through the open driver’s seat window. They both looked at each other and exchanged a secret frustrated glance before agreeing. 

Jesse checked into the motel, knowing the usual routine, and found his room. It was nearly identical to the last. The only thing that changed were the kitschy floral patterns on every fabric there.

Jesse dropped the backpack, letting it slide from his shoulder right onto the ground. He waltzed over to the table and sat down, making a detour along the way to grab the hotel’s complimentary notebook and pen off the nightstand. He ripped a page off of the notepad and placed the paper in front of him. He scribbled the title “Did Walt Care? Let’s Fucking See!!!” and  dragged a shaky line down the middle. 

Soon, after jotting down a few notes he looked up and stared hard at the empty seat across from his. He was alone. He didn’t want to be. He was alone. He stared again, squinting. A blurry figure was coming into focus.

“Hey, asshole. What’s new?”   


Mr. White’s voice began to climb into his mind. “Hello, Jesse.” 


End file.
